“Mark,” I said, mentally thanking Megan for putting those pictures on her website. He was the best man.
“What are you drinking? White wine?”
I grimaced faintly. “No, thank you. I had enough of that the last time I saw you.” Mark laughed. I grabbed the gin. “Martinis are more my style anyway.” Mark reached for the shaker and the vermouth. “I can do it,” I protested.
“Nah, I make a mean one. How do you take it?”
“Dirty,” a voice behind me said. “Lily likes everything dirty.” I whirled around and saw the last of the six groomsmen, Justin, grinning lasciviously at me. I hadn’t needed his picture to know his name. Justin had been creepily hitting on me since I met him a year earlier at Megan’s birthday party.
Empirically, Justin was attractive. He had green eyes and a nice, even smile. And he was tall—at five foot nine myself, tall was always a plus. His personality, however, quickly sapped the appeal of his physical characteristics. Especially since he tried to stick his tongue down my throat within about six minutes of meeting him. Nope. Hard pass.
Please let it be anyone but him, I thought desperately. But my stomach dropped as an image of his arm around me as I stumbled outside at the engagement party so he could smoke a cigarette came crashing back. I didn’t remember kissing him, but I could picture his head leaning in toward mine. Not irrefutable evidence, but combined with the dirty comment, this was probably my guy. Ugh, Lily, why?
Mark laughed. “So you’re the reason Megan has like seventeen jars of olives here. Makes sense now.”
Deep breath. I can have one drink an hour and be fine. Or two drinks now and none later. And then I can handle this.
“What can I say? I like olives.” I laughed nervously, turning back to Mark as he began mixing my drink. “Careful,” I warned him, faking a level of gaiety I certainly didn’t feel. “If it’s not good, you don’t get a tip!” They both laughed. I can do this. Just act like a normal human being who hasn’t slept with anyone here.
He poured the drink and speared three olives to put in it before handing it to me. I took a sip and smiled. “I’ll put a dollar in the jar. Thanks!”
“Anything for the maid of honor,” he replied.
Why couldn’t I have slept with that one? I asked myself. Yes, he’s nerdy, but he’s sweet at least.
I turned around and Justin leaned against the island, his hip touching mine. Nope, I thought, scanning the room, looking for salvation. Megan called my name from the living room.
“Duty calls,” I said without a backward glance and catapulted myself at Megan. “What’s up, Megs?”
Megan grabbed my arm and dragged me into the powder room, nearly spilling my martini on her new floors. “I’m going to kill her,” she hissed.
“What? Who?”
“Claire. Tim’s sister.”
I mentally flipped back through the bridesmaids. Tim’s sister was the tiny one with a severe case of resting bitch face. She couldn’t have been more than four foot eleven, but what she lacked in size, she made up for in attitude—all of it negative. Megan had been complaining about her from the moment they met. “What did she do?”
“She just can’t ever say anything nice. Like we just bought a house. Of course it’s not perfect yet, but do you really walk into someone else’s new house and start listing all the things that are wrong with it?”
“What an angry little troll,” I commiserated. “Who does that? What was she even saying? The house is awesome.”
Megan was blinking rapidly like she was trying not to cry. “Just harping about the carpets and the layout of the kitchen and the appliances. We’re going to get new appliances after the wedding, you know.”
“Aw Megs, I know. She’s just jealous. Where does she live?”
Megan grabbed a tissue from the holder that perfectly matched the rest of the bathroom and started dabbing at her eyes to keep her makeup from running. “In a mansion in Potomac. New construction, of course, with a pool. Her husband’s parents bought it for them.”
I rolled my eyes. “And you’re crying over what she thinks? Come on, how miserable does she have to be that she’s living in a free house and is picking on yours?”
“It’s not just that. She’s so down on everything we do for the wedding too. She told me she’ll only be in the wedding if she gets to pick her own dress. Like what am I supposed to say to that? It’s my wedding. So I either have to let her decide what the bridesmaids wear, or else tell Tim his sister can’t be in the wedding. What a horrible thing to do to someone.”
I thought about what I had seen in my recent forays onto Caryn’s Pinterest boards. “What if you give her a couple of options? Like where all the bridesmaids wear the same color but can pick from a few styles?”
Megan nodded. “I guess. It’s not how I pictured it, but it’s better than just having insane mismatched dresses everywhere. But what if she won’t even agree to the colors?”
I planted my hands behind me and hopped up onto the bathroom counter to sit. “Then it’s her choice to not be in the wedding. Not yours.”
“But the numbers won’t match.”
“She’s going to wear the color you pick. I promise. She’s not going to pass up the chance to be in the wedding so she can say something rude to you on your actual wedding day too.”
“If she makes me cry on my wedding day—”
“I’ll trip her and then, oops, I stepped on her face. So sorry. Must have been the dress she picked that made her fall.”
Megan laughed finally. “You can’t step on my sister-in-law’s face.”
“If she makes you cry on your wedding day, watch me.”
Megan looked in the mirror and gave her eyes a final pat with the tissue. “We should get back out there.”
I nodded. “Claire’s probably spreading rumors about your kitchen floor.”
“She would,” Megan said conspiratorially. “Thanks, Lil.”
“What are maids of honor for?” I jumped off the counter, linked arms with her, and pulled the powder room door open.
“Do you want to sleep over tonight? So you can actually drink? We have the guest room all made up.”
“I can’t.” Nor did I want to, with Justin lurking about. “I’m going dress shopping with my mother and Amy tomorrow.”
Megan laughed, all trace of her earlier misery gone. “That’s so cute! They’re looking for a dress like she’s actually getting married?”
I groaned. “It’s like a toddler playing dress-up.”
Megan nodded distractedly, then saw someone near the front door and called out, “Maria!” Untangling my arm from hers, she rushed off to greet her newest guest.
I looked around. I could stick to Megan’s side all night, but with her running around in manic hostess mode, that didn’t seem particularly appealing, even though it was the safest option. Better to mingle a bit and then make an early escape. I had a sip of my drink left. Justin wouldn’t still be in the kitchen, right? I drank the last drops and decided to risk it for a second and final drink.
The room was more crowded, but I didn’t see Justin, so I mixed myself a new martini. I speared as many olives as I could and walked toward the living room to see who else I knew.
Then an arm dropped heavily around my shoulder, and I looked up in revulsion at the one person whose arm I truly did not want around me. “Um,” I said uncomfortably, moving out from under it. “What’s up? How are you?”
“How are you?” Justin asked. “Really? That’s all I get?”
“Do you want an olive?” I held up the pick from my drink.
He bent down and bit one of them, sliding it off the spear, looking up at me as he did it. I felt nauseous. That was the opposite of sexy. “It’s a start. I was surprised I didn’t hear from you after the engagement party.”
“Oh. Uh. You were?”
He nodded, leaning in way too close. “After you just left like that without saying goodbye. We have unfinished business. And you owe
me for my shirt.”
Why did Amy have to get engaged on a night when I was around a guy who makes my skin crawl?
I laughed nervously. “Oh. Yeah. That. I was—I was a little drunk. I’d just gotten a call from my sister and—”
He leaned closer still, his breath sour from the beer in his hand. “I don’t need excuses. I just want to know how you’re going to make it up to me.”
“I—um—I—” I slipped my phone out of my purse, unlocked it quickly, and hit “Send” on the message to Becca.
My phone rang seconds later.
“I—oh, wait, I have to take this,” I said. “Hello?”
“Hey, Lily,” Becca trilled cheerfully. “It’s an emergency.”
“An emergency?” I repeated for Justin’s benefit. “Uh-oh. What kind of emergency?”
“Jesus. I don’t know what kind. A camel bit me? How’s that?”
I choked back a desperate laugh. “Oh—wow. That sounds—serious.” I looked up at Justin. “Excuse me. Sorry!” Holding the phone to my ear, I weaved my way through the crowd and onto the deck just outside the kitchen. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I breathed heavily into the phone.
“That didn’t take long. What happened?”
“Do you have the wedding website up?” She didn’t, but she typed in the address. “It was Justin. As soon as I walked in, he made some dirty comment and then he just grabbed me and asked how I was going to make it up to him for leaving without saying goodbye the morning after the engagement party. And oh my God, Bec, it was the skeeviest thing ever.”
“He’s not bad looking.”
I made a gagging noise. “Sure. If you like date rapists. Blackout drunk doesn’t equate to consent. And he made it sound like I owed him something.” I shuddered.
“From his perspective, you did steal his shirt.”
“He got that back.”
“True. So what are you going to do? Is it too soon to leave?”
I looked at my watch. “Yeah, Megan would be upset.”
“Can you say you’re sick? Or that I had an emergency?”
“I doubt she’d buy that your camel bit you.”
Becca laughed. “The Mummy was on TV. It was the best I could come up with under pressure.”
I rolled my eyes. “No,” I said eventually. “I’ll be a big girl. I’ll just do everything I can to avoid him.”
“On the bright side, at least you know who you’re avoiding now!”
“True. Thanks, Bec.”
“Anytime. Call me back if you need another emergency because the mummy might attack me next.”
I laughed and told her to stay out of his tomb. She said she made no promises and went back to her movie. Taking a sip of my martini, I leaned against the railing of the deck, trying to make out the features of Megan and Tim’s new backyard through the darkness.
“Justin still giving you trouble?” a voice asked out of the darkness.
I jumped and dropped my glass, a tinkling sound echoing below me where it shattered on the patio.
“Shit!” I exclaimed, and the owner of the voice rushed over and into focus.
“Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!”
“You didn’t scare me. But Megan’s going to be upset I broke a glass.”
He shrugged. “Eh, it gives her an excuse to register for new ones.”
I squinted at him, backlit against the kitchen windows. “Alex?” I asked. He was the groomsman who had been checking out the bookcase when I arrived at the party.
He nodded. “I am sorry though. I wasn’t eavesdropping. At least I wasn’t trying to. I was already here when you came out.”
I was still startled, but my heartbeat was starting to regulate again. “It’s okay. What were you doing out here? It’s cold.”
He looked down. “I had an emergency of my own.”
“Did your friend get bitten by a camel to save you from a total sketch ball too?”
“Um, not exactly.” He hesitated. “My dad had a heart attack a few weeks ago and he was having chest pains today.”
“Oh no. I’m so sorry. Is he okay?”
Alex nodded. “Yeah, but when I got a call from my sister, it freaked me out, so I came out here to take it. He’s fine, but I needed a minute before I went back in. When I saw her name on the caller ID, I just thought—you know.” He smiled at me tightly. “And then your poor friend was suffering from a severe camel bite, and I didn’t want to interrupt.”
I laughed. “I’m such an ass.”
“Nah, I get it. Justin was all over you at the engagement party too.”
I winced. “That was not my finest hour.”
“Really? You’re not always mainlining martinis and wine?” He leaned way over the deck railing pretending to look below him. “I see glass down there; I don’t see any liquid.”
I scrunched up my nose. “I had an excuse.”
“Then? Or tonight?”
“Both. I’m blaming you for the broken glass. If you hadn’t jumped out at me like something from a horror movie, I wouldn’t have dropped the glass. But at the engagement party, I was—let’s call it having an existential crisis.”
He laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling warmly. “An existential crisis? I think I’m going to need a judge’s ruling on that one.”
With an embellished sigh, I recounted the series of events that led to my fall from vermouth to chardonnay that night.
“Why didn’t you just say no to being in a couple of the weddings?”
“Well, I can’t to the family ones, and I had already accepted the other three when my brother and sister got engaged.”
“Yeah, but it’s not like you’re the one getting married. Who cares if you’re a bridesmaid?”
I rolled my eyes. “It doesn’t work like that with girls.”
“I guess not. I just have to keep Tim from doing anything too gross at the bachelor party and then show up on time in a tux.”
“Lucky.”
There was a pause. It wasn’t uncomfortable specifically, but neither of us had anything more to say. And without a drink in my hand, I had no props to work with. I turned and peered over the railing again. “So what should we do about this broken glass situation? Clean it up or pretend we know nothing about it?”
Alex leaned back on the rail, facing the kitchen door, and smiled. “Neither. We blame Justin.”
I laughed heartily. “Deal.”
“Come on, let’s go get you another drink so you look innocent.” He started to walk away, realized I wasn’t following, and turned back. A look at my face told him the reason, even in the dark. “I’ll run interference for you again.”
“Again?”
“God, you were drunk, weren’t you? Yeah, I spent half of the engagement party trying to help you fend him off.”
I cringed again, wishing he had spent the full party on duty, but I couldn’t say that, so I thanked him.
“We’ll add that to the list of my groomsman duties to average out the playing field a little. Now come on. It’s cold and I don’t have a jacket to give you.” He held out his arm and I took it gratefully.
Justin glanced up when we walked in together, and a cloud of annoyance crossed his face, but I figured he would get over it. He had Julie, another bridesmaid, trapped against the wall in a corner of the kitchen. Her expression of distaste made it obvious that she felt like I did. If I knew her better, or hadn’t already fallen prey to him myself, I might have launched a rescue mission, but it was every girl for herself right now.
“I think you’re safe,” Alex whispered, following my gaze.
“At least until Julie escapes. But on the plus side, she should be totally on board with blaming him for the broken glass.”
Alex steepled his fingers and said “excellent” in a Mr. Burns voice, then, while facing away from the bar, grabbed a martini glass and stealthily slid it to me behind his back. “Time for a refill?” he asked loudly.
“Yes, please.”
<
br /> CHAPTER TEN
I wasn’t hungover when I arrived at the bridal salon the following morning to shop with Amy, my mother, my grandmother, and Amy’s best friend, an anemic-looking girl named Ashlee, whose vocal fry always left me feeling like she was both younger and ditzier than she actually was. I had known her since she was eleven, but she had never left much of an impression other than being a very washed-out wingwoman to my annoyingly ebullient sister. But after the first hour of dress shopping, I began to feel symptoms similar to a hangover.
“I started a dress binder,” my mother announced, pulling a three-inch monstrosity out of a Lululemon tote and setting it gingerly on the shop’s coffee table. It was filled with printed-out pages of wedding dresses, each stuck in a clear plastic page protector. The saleslady nodded sagely, as if this were commonplace behavior.
As my mother turned the pages, I saw the Pinterest logo repeated again and again. “Mom, did you print out Amy’s whole Pinterest board?”
“Who’s pinching Amy?” my grandmother asked loudly. Apparently her hearing aids had not been invited shopping with us.
My mother ignored her. “Where else would I have gotten the pictures?”
“You could have just pulled up Pinterest on your phone.”
“She’s new to this,” my mother told the saleslady in a stage whisper. “She’s never been married.” I desperately missed the champagne offerings from Caryn’s salons.
“I definitely want a princess gown,” Amy said. “Or maybe a mermaid. Do they make a princess mermaid? Because I don’t feel like I’m quite old enough to get away with a mermaid gown. They look so much better on older brides.” She turned to me. “That’ll be perfect when you get married.”
“Why don’t I just get one now?” I asked. “And I can sit around in it until I’m eighty like Miss Havisham.”
“Was she that art teacher we didn’t like?” Ashlee asked.
I looked at my mother, hoping for some backup, but she mouthed, “Stop it,” to me instead. I leaned against the back of the armchair, crossed my arms, and stopped talking.
For the Love of Friends Page 7